


Harder

by battle_cat



Series: Together [10]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fight Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sparring, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 13:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11556093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: She is starting to wish he'd be a little less careful.





	Harder

“You know…” she begins as she’s wiping herself clean of the day’s grease and dust. Max is sitting on the bench unlacing his boots, his shirt off before anything else for once.

“You don’t…always have to be gentle with me,” she says.

He looks up at her, a question in his raised eyebrows.

He isn’t exactly hesitant, but he is so _careful_ with her, even when his hunger is obvious: so attentive to every twitch and shiver of her body, to how she reacts to each new sensation and act, and—it’s not that she doesn’t appreciate it. She _does,_ more than she could ever tell him. They probably couldn’t have started any other way. But now that they’re past the initial stage of exploration, she finds herself thinking about…other things.

He’s strong, a match for her in a fight, and he has a feral energy she can see him holding back sometimes. She trusts him to be close to her, in a bone-deep, instinctual way she still can’t quite explain and has never felt before. And she’s realized that she’s starting to wish he’d be a little less careful.

On the days they work side by side in the garage, her thoughts have a tendency to stray, and the places they stray to are not gentle. She thinks about him shoving her up against his car and fucking her from behind; finding a secret alcove where he can press her into the wall and make her scream; even, sometimes, fleetingly, about being face-down in the sand with his weight on top of her—

“I’m not gonna break, you know.” She’s naked, the cool wash-water making her nipples hard, and she leans back against the wall with one knee bent and her foot against the stone, letting him look at her. “Used to a few scrapes and bruises.”

He swallows, and suddenly becomes very interested in undoing his brace. “Don’t, mm, wanna hurt you,” he mutters.

She inclines her head. “I think I can take you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up, but then he shakes his head. “Hnh. Don’t wanna…” He trails off.

“Be like him?” The quick retreat of his gaze to anywhere other than her face tells her she’s guessed correctly.

“You’re not,” she says. “You won’t be.”

She doesn’t have the right words to explain, that this isn’t about that and she doesn’t want it to be; that there were times Joe had thought he was being gentle too and they weren’t any better than the times he’d left her bloody and bruised; that she just wants new territory that is _hers_ and not mapped out in the shadow of the past.

She can’t figure out how to say any of that, so she climbs into his lap, pressing against his bare chest. She twines her fingers into his hair and grips tight. “This,” she hisses, “is _nothing_ like that.”

He kisses her, and she bites at his bottom lip, daring him to bite back. He takes her to bed, puts his hands and his mouth all over her. She hitches her legs up so his thrusts can reach deep inside her, and it’s hot and sweet and good and almost, almost enough. But not quite.

 

What she needs, she finally decides, is a little adrenaline.

A few days later, she bumps her hip against his while he’s bent over the engine of his car. It’s the hottest part of the afternoon, when the Citadel usually rests, but she has other ideas.

“Wanna spar?”

He gives her a questioning look from underneath the hood.

“Could use a good scrap.” She leans against the car, her gaze steady until he blinks away. “I’ve never fought you with two hands.” She curls her metal hand around the frame of his car next to, but not quite touching, his fingers.

He swallows. When his gaze flicks back to her there’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“Good scrap, mm?”

“Mm-hmm.” She smiles.

He puts down the wrench and very thoroughly wipes his hands.

 

She knows there will be no one in the training room this time of day—pups takes their lessons in the early morning when it’s cooler. It’s warm enough inside that Max takes off his jacket, laying it carefully in a corner before stepping onto the mats.

There’s a little half-suppressed smile on his face as she bounces in place, warming up her limbs. It’s been too long since she was healthy enough and relaxed enough to fight somebody just for fun, and she can feel herself revving up rapidly.

“First one to get pinned three times loses?” she offers.

“Mm. ‘S how you wanna play it?”

“Any day, Fool.” She grins.

He lunges and it’s on.

It’s awkward at first, both of them more used to going for the kill than tussling for fun. She is so used to striking quick and hard and ruthless that it’s real work to avoid the easy, debilitating targets—eyes, throat, groin, the glaring weak spot of his braced knee. He’s aware of his own strength, nervous about using his full weight and overly cautious of her prosthetic. The combination means they mostly end up grappling, but…she can definitely work with that.

They’re well-matched, equals but not identical. He’s heavier, solid but surprisingly fast, but she’s faster, more flexible and armed with a lifetime of learning how to wriggle out of holds. She gets him on the ground first, briefly landing on top before he rolls them, scrambling out of his grip before he can get his weight settled on her.

“Gotta do better than that, Fool,” she taunts, back on her feet. They’re both panting, sweat starting to drip. Now that they’ve got a rhythm going this is getting fun; it feels good to use her muscles and feel the solid bulk of his body work against her.

She grabs the next chance she gets, a shoulder check and a fast takedown that lands him hard on his back. In a split second she’s on top of him, her knees pinning his arms against his body and her metal hand under the hinge of his jaw. She feels him twitch underneath her and then go still at the feeling of steel against his throat, no movement except the bellows of his lungs heaving underneath her. She can feel his heartbeat against her thigh.

She is ready to move off him at the slightest hint of panic, but he’s _smiling,_ the fucking smeg. When he meets her gaze there’s a strange light in his eyes, and she has to smile too.

“That’s one,” she says, and rolls off him.

The next time, it’s her on the ground, his hands on her wrist and elbow pinning her to the mat. She makes him work for it, makes him use his whole weight, heat and solid muscle on top of her. When his hips press down between her spread legs (she maybe let him get between her legs on purpose) she can feel him hard through his leathers.

“Mm,” she hums, rocking her hips up against him. His face is already flushed but she thinks she sees it get a little redder.

“One for me,” he says, and she lets him have a moment of triumph before she hooks a foot around the ankle of his good leg and snaps her hips up, dumping him off her. When he rolls to his feet he’s still smiling.

The next time, she lands high on his chest, her knees on his biceps and her crotch maybe completely intentionally only a few inches from his face. “This is becoming a pattern,” she says, adjusting her weight to keep him from getting an arm free.

He’s breathing hard, sweat gathered on his upper lip and the ragged collar of his shirt. He’s recently shaved, only a rough shadow of stubble, and she can see every tendon in his neck when he swallows.

She wants to put her mouth there, taste sweat and feel his pulse beating under her tongue. Instead, she slides her flesh hand into her pants.

He groans.

She doesn’t have much room to maneuver, but she worms her fingers down until she finds wetness—a lot of it. “I’m very wet,” she observes, and he makes some sort of strangled noise in the back of his throat. She rubs over her clit, just teasing herself a little. “Mm, too bad you can’t feel it.”

She’s not sure what limb he gets free, but the next thing she knows she’s on the mat—a hard enough impact to send a shiver through her—and he’s climbing on top, dragging her hand out of her pants and sucking the slick off her fingers before pinning it above her head. His mouth crashes into hers, hard and demanding, and there are teeth and a bright coppery trace of someone’s blood from somewhere and it’s like gunning the engine and letting the acceleration press you into the seat.

He’s grinding against her, and she wraps her legs tight around his waist, bucks her hips and moans into his mouth when it just makes him press her down harder and— _OH._ A sudden shockwave of pleasure shudders through her and she has to bite back a cry.

“Did you—?” he pants, breaking the kiss.

She wouldn’t have thought she could come just from pressure and friction like that, but she nods.

“Fuck…haven’t even touched you yet.” He ducks his head down and unerringly finds her nipple, sucking hard through her shirt. She squirms.

“You could fuck me right here.”

His gaze flicks to the door—it has a latch but no lock. “Mm. Someone could come in.”

“And what,”—she gasps as he licks along the line where her breast disappears under her top—“tell me to stop?” In truth she has no idea how she would react if someone walked in, and it’s a spiky little thrill underneath the throb of want.

He hums, lapping at the sweat between her breasts, as if considering.

“Get on with it, Fool,” she snaps, grinding her hips against him as hard as she can manage in this position.

He laughs, and then his teeth scrape against the tender inner curve of her breast, and while she’s busy gasping at that he starts unbuckling her belt.

He levers off her long enough to drag her pants down to her ankles and shove his the bare minimum out of the way and then he’s pushing into her, hard and fast enough to leave her grasping for something to hold onto; she latches onto a handful of his shirt and drags him down on top of her again. The first rock of his hips is not nearly enough, not at all, and she hisses, “ _Harder,_ Fool,” and the next thrust slams into her hard enough to make her see stars.

She nods desperately because she can’t form words but that’s _exactly_ what she wants, buries her flesh hand in his hair and digs her metal one into the mat, wraps her legs around him and hangs on. The pace is brutal, rougher than he’s ever let himself fuck her, and she is incandescent with the intensity of it. She buries the wild noises she’s making in the hollow of his shoulder and lets her mind go blank.

His rhythm pauses just long enough to get a rough thumb on her clit and she is already too sensitive but she presses into it, lets him push her past the good-bad-too-much ragged edge of overstimulation into another shuddering orgasm she feels everywhere. She only realizes he’s coming when he stifles a long raw grunt against her shoulder.

When she comes back to herself from wherever she was floating she realizes his hand is on the back of her head, gently stroking her hair. Her thigh muscles are burning from how tightly she gripped him, her hip joints ache and they’re both plastered with sweat. She has no idea how noisy they were and can’t summon the energy to care.

He’s still lodged inside her, but soft, and when she shifts a little she wonders how sore she’ll be tomorrow. But it’s the good kind of sore, of bodies willingly pushed to their limit and just a little bit beyond it.

Her hand is still fisted in his hair, and she unclenches her stiff fingers and strokes through the sweaty mess, over the little tuft that sticks up no matter what.

She shifts, uncurls enough from around him that she can look at his face. He looks stunned, raw and a little bit vulnerable, as if he did something he shouldn’t, but she feels like they just sledgehammered through a wall together, exhausted but triumphant. She kisses him, gently, nudges him to rest his forehead against hers.

“Next time,” she mumbles, “we should start in our room.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://fuckyeahisawthat.tumblr.com)


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